Signed, Sealed, Delivered
by do i need a pen name
Summary: In the process of settling into their new lives in New York, Amy and Rory received three letters and sent one. One was a final farewell. One was a promise that would never be fulfilled. One was a new beginning. And one was all three.
1. A Final Farewell

**a/n—Ages and ages ago, I wrote a one-shot entitled **_**Final Farewell**_**, with many of the reviews asking for Rory and Amy's reaction to the farewell letter the Doctor wrote them, so the idea for this story came about and I am finally posting it. There will be four parts to the story altogether, and I should be posting a new one every few days or so. Enjoy!**

**Signed, Sealed, Delivered**

**Letter Received #1—A Final Farewell**

To: The Ponds

From: The Doctor

_Hello Ponds!_

_How are things?_

_Although I'm sure you won't believe me, I'm holding up on my end._

_I just visited the Singing Towers at Darillium. They're quite lovely, I wish you could have seen them. I took River, though, and we talked about you a bit. She doesn't like to admit it much, but she misses both of you so much._

_Anyway, spending time with her got me to thinking about the two of you. I know you're both doing brilliantly. Although it's entirely possible that I may have popped into the future and checked up on how your lives turned out, it would be nice if you could reply to this letter; tell me how you're adjusting to living in New York instead of sleepy old Leadworth. You can't though, so I suppose there's no use in me moping about it._

_But actually getting to my point: spending time with River made me realize that there were some things I never told you; things you deserve to know. Naturally, the most important thing is about River Song. Melody Pond. Your daughter._

_Even without you in it anymore, she has a good life. You know she became a professor of archaeology, of course. But she's also very fond of going on expeditions. That's how the two of us first met, in fact._

_The truth is, I met River for the first time several years before I met you, Amy. Of course, the way our lives work, I was only very barely acquainted with her when you first met her, but that's beside the point right now. Moving on back to the point, I've got to admit I wasn't a huge fan of Professor River Song when I first met her at The Library. The woman knew absolutely everything about me and I hadn't the faintest idea who she was. It was positively maddening._

_And then she saved my life. My life and several thousand others. And then she died. Your daughter died saving so many people's lives, and I barely even knew who she was._

_I'm sorry I've always known how your daughter would die. I'm sorry I never told you. I'm sorry you never got to say a real goodbye to her._

_And I really do hope that you're both upset with me right now for never telling you about this. But I know you. You would tell me, if you could, that this wasn't my fault._

_And I guess…I'm not entirely to blame. None of us had any way of knowing what would happen that day we went to New York. None of us knew how limited our time together truly was._

_Although…I do wonder…because, you see, I never got the chance to ask…and since we've established that you're never going to reply to this letter, I suppose I'll never really know…_

_Did you ever see River again? She had a manuscript to drop off, after all. Did you get to say your goodbyes to your daughter? Or did she pop in from time to time over the years? I never thought to ask her…I hope she did. I hope you got your goodbyes. And if you haven't seen her, or gotten the manuscript yet…well then, I hope you see her soon._

_I hope she stops by soon and you get your proper goodbye, now that I've told you about how River and I first met._

_I'll try to time this letter so you'll get it quite soon after leaving me. That will give you time…time for River to show up…and time to see _me_ one last time, because I'm incredibly selfish like that._

_And I know you're probably confused right now, because of course I can't go back there, to where the two of you are. So I suppose I should clarify that you won't exactly be seeing _me_ again. You see, I've been to New York several times…_before_. It was like in another life…or several other lives, I suppose. And it always seems to be about the Empire State Building when I'm there, too. Just remember this: the twenty-second of May, 1966. I'll be the one landing on the roof. Don't mind the Dalek, I sorted things out eventually._

_It's not much, but it's the best I can give you: one last glimpse of me. It's really a treat, I suppose. Not many have ever seen me so young._

_I feel as if I'm rambling now._

_And I should probably go._

_Know that I miss you._

_And just promise me one thing? Have a fantastic life._

* * *

The letter came about a week after they had arrived in New York. The envelope was Tardis blue. It was postmarked from sleepy, little Leadworth. And it was addressed to 'The Ponds.' There was only one person it could have been from.

Amy never read the letter. Actually, she couldn't read it, and she had two very good reasons why.

The first was rather obvious, really: she'd left her reading glasses behind in Central Park…in 2012. No chance of ever getting those back, then. Of course she could always go get a new pair, and she would…eventually. But she was still trying to adjust to this new life, a time traveler stuck permanently in the past. She wasn't quite ready to do something as mundane as going out to see an optometrist in order to purchase a new pair of glasses. Doing that would mean that she really was stuck here. Even if she was stuck here with Rory, there was still a tiny bit of her that hoped maybe there was some seemingly impossible way that they'd be able to go home once more.

Rory was the one to actually read the letter. He read it aloud for Amy, unconsciously—but unsurprisingly after having travelled with him for so long—speaking just as if the Doctor was there with them once more, apparently rambling on with no end in sight as thoughts came into his head.

But when he finally did reach the end…all remaining shreds of hope that they wouldn't be remaining in this city for the rest of their lives had been dashed. They could only sit there together in their small kitchen, silence permeating their equally small apartment.

It was Rory who finally broke the silence.

"He always was the most awkward man I've ever known," he commented, attempting to offer his wife a wry smile and failing miserably, "Never very good at expressing emotions correctly at all."

Amy remained silent, her gaze transfixed on the words that were just a bit too blurry for her to make out without her glasses.

"And the constant rambling…" Rory added after a prolonged pause in which he thought Amy might have spoken up. "It just never ends."

"River…" Amy suddenly whispered, "Our little Melody…"

Rory reached across the table to grasp one of Amy's hands in his own.

"That's still a long way off," He stated, attempting to thwart the rush of despair threatening to envelope him at the thought of his daughter's death. "Well, he didn't say that, but I'm sure it is. Didn't he mention once that her home era was the fifty second century…or something like that?"

"But he's always known," Amy replied. "He's known since before he ever met us exactly how our daughter would one day die. And he never said."

Against her will, a tear that Amy had been trying to hold in slid down her cheek. As she hurriedly wiped it away, she couldn't help but let out a wry laugh as she continued, "But the thing is, he must not have mentioned because he felt guilty, the idiot."

"That sounds like the Doctor," Rory agreed, giving his wife's hand a comforting squeeze.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence once more, each dwelling on their own thoughts as they mulled over the Doctor's letter. This time it was Amy who spoke up.

"What was that bit about a manuscript?" She asked suddenly, a small frown creasing her forehead.

Rory picked up the letter with the hand that wasn't still gripping Amy's and scanned it, before alighting on the line she'd asked about. "I don't know," He admitted. "It just asks if we've seen River since last time, because she has a manuscript to drop off. He doesn't say what it's a manuscript of."

Amy's frown morphed into a thoughtful expression. "It could be…do you think…the Melody Malone mystery I was reading…that was obviously about River. Could that be what he was talking about?"

"Wasn't one of those job openings you found at a publishing company?" Rory replied with a pondering expression of his own. "Maybe…maybe she's going to drop off the manuscript so that you can get it published."

"Publish a story that will lead ourselves here…" Amy murmured with a shake of her head.

"But this is good news, isn't it?" Rory asked. When Amy frowned slightly at him, he continued, "And no, I'm not referring to the fact that one of us is apparently going to actually get a job sometime in the near future in an attempt to make light of this whole situation."

At this, Amy couldn't help the small smile that crossed her face. Her centurion knew her so well.

"I actually meant that it means we'll get to see River at least once more," Rory continued. "We'll get to say our goodbyes to her. And maybe, if we're lucky, we'll even manage to convince her to drop in on her old mum and dad every so often."

The smile on Amy's face turned hopeful now, and she straightened in her seat with new purpose.

"Where's that newspaper?" She demanded.

"Er…what?" Rory asked, slightly thrown off by this sudden shift in conversation.

"The newspaper," Amy repeated. "If the Doctor says River's bringing something for us to get published, then I'm going to need to know where to go to apply for that job. Best to get that done as soon as possible, don't you think?"

Amy's first reason for never reading the letter was just an excuse; she eventually got a new pair of glasses, after all. But it was an excuse that she continued to stick to because of her second, more important, reason that Rory could never know about: every time she ever picked up the Doctor's farewell, for the rest of her life, it hurt too much.

Yes, she was content with the life she had chosen. In fact, most days she was overjoyed with it. And how could she not be, with Rory and Anthony in her life? But even with everything she had gained, that letter was a reminder of everything she had lost. And it hurt so much.

She would always refuse to dwell on the hurt, though. Because she did have Rory and Anthony, the two boys she would always love more than life itself. And because she did take the Doctor's words to heart. She was able to say some farewells of her own and she did have a fantastic life.

So yes, Amy never read the farewell letter the Doctor sent. But she cherished every word it contained. And she always would.


	2. An Unfulfilled Promise

**Letter Received #2—An Unfulfilled Promise**

To: Mum & Dad

From: Melody Pond

_Hello Mum and Dad!_

_I know we scheduled next week's family dinner ages ago, and I'm really sorry, but I am going to have to postpone it a bit. You see, a great opportunity just came up, and it's just too good to turn down. I'm going to lead an expedition to The Library. The Library planet, that is. One hundred years ago, 4,022 people disappeared from it and the computer locked the whole place down. We'll be the first to enter since then, hopefully to discover what happened that day._

_It's going to be so exciting. I can't wait._

_I'm going to see if I can get the Doctor to meet me there, so I'll be sure to pass along your love to your favorite son-in-law._

_I'll write again just as soon as I get back from the expedition so that we can reschedule our dinner._

_All my love,_

_Melody_

_P.S.-I realize that I have the power of time travel at my disposal, and therefore this letter is really quite unnecessary. However, since _**I** _am going to have to reschedule the original time I was to visit the date we agreed on, I figured this letter was justified. Plus, I hear it's the polite thing to do when one might be late meeting up with one's parents. See you soon!_

* * *

The death of one's child is always a hard thing to cope with. Harder still is to learn of that death through a letter. And even harder yet for that letter to be written by the child who had no way of knowing she had just informed her parents that she was going to her death.

It had started as a normal day in the Williams household. Like most days, Amy left first, off to her job at the publishing house. Rory stayed home that morning, as he'd done every morning that week, in order to study in peace for his medical school final exams. He met Amy for lunch at a café down the street from the building where she worked, did the grocery shopping for the week, collected the mail from their box upon returning home, and then resumed his studying for the remainder of the afternoon. Amy returned home promptly at half past five, just like she always did, and the couple had cooked, eaten, and then cleaned up dinner by seven. It was only after all of this that any attention was given to the small pile of envelopes that Rory had retrieved from the mailbox earlier in the day.

While Rory finished drying the dishes, Amy sorted the mail into two piles: potentially interesting things for her and bills for Rory.

When Rory turned around from returning the last glass to its proper place, it was to find Amy sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a single sheet of paper in both hands, and with tears streaming down her face.

"Amy?" Rory questioned immediately, throwing down the towel he was still holding and crossing the room to crouch beside his wife. "Amy, what is it? What's wrong?"

"River."

The single word was all Rory needed to understand the situation. This was it. This was the moment they had subconsciously been waiting for the past three years, ever since they had received the Doctor's letter of farewell.

A quick glance over the letter Amy still clutched confirmed it: River was going to the Library. They were never going to see their daughter again.

On shaky legs, Rory returned to his seat, essentially collapsing into it before staring blankly into nothingness. It was Amy who broke the silence this time.

"We always knew this day was coming," She said lowly. "That doesn't really make it any better but at least…at least we were prepared for something like this…for this happening. A-And I s-suppose it's better to have gotten this letter than t-to have to spend the r-rest of our lives wondering if we would ever get to see h-her again…"

Rory had no words to reply to Amy, because it _wasn't_ better, not really. At least not right then. Yes, they were getting an actual confirmation of their daughter's death, but it was downright cruel that that confirmation had to come in their daughter's own handwriting.

And River…their precious Melody…she had no idea. There was no way she could possibly know that this would be her last contact with her parents and that she would never fulfill any of the promises she had made them in her letter. She was never going to reschedule their family dinner. She was not going to see them soon. She was never going to see them _again_. And the cheerful letter only proved that she had _no_ idea.

Rory knew without a doubt, no matter Amy's attempt to stay strong, this was the worst letter the two parents would ever receive.


	3. A New Beginning

**a/n-Sorry for the delay in posting! Time just sort of got away from me and I forgot all about posting chapters. The final chapter should be up within the week (hopefully). Also, just a bit of a disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea what the adoption process was like in New York in the 1940's, so we're all just going to go with it here...**

**Letter Received #3—A New Beginning**

To: Dr. and Mrs. Rory A. Williams

From: New York City Department of Child and Family Services

_Dear Dr. and Mrs. Williams,_

_Congratulations!_

_I am writing to inform you that your application to the New York Department of Child and Family Services has been accepted. You are now approved to adopt within the state of New York._

_Enclosed you will find a list of orphanage locations within the Manhattan area. Additionally, contact information for each orphanage Director has been included so that you are able to make the necessary appointments at your own discretion. _

_Please be advised that there may still be a waiting period of several weeks and/or months for an actual adoption to be finalized._

_Good Luck!_

_Sincerely,_

_Cynthia Roberts_

_Secretary—N.Y.D.C.F.S._

* * *

The letter was surprisingly anti-climatic. Honestly, the entire process had been anti-climatic. It was startlingly easy to adopt a child in 1940's New York. It was a shock to a couple that had once contemplated adoption in the twenty-first century, where everything was so much more complicated.

For as easy as the process was, however, it was still a long road for Rory and Amy to get to the point of actually being notified that they were in the clear to stop in any orphanage in New York that they pleased in order to pick out the child that would be their future son or daughter.

The subject of adoption first came up in the summer of 1941. Back then, Rory had still been going through medical school, but they had a steady income courtesy of Amy. And, more importantly, they were ready to finally actually become parents. They had had Melody once and lost so much time with her, and River was a typical grown child who did not visit her parents nearly often enough for their liking. What the Williams' needed was a little boy or girl to complete the life they had finally settled into in New York. And so it was decided that just as soon as Rory finished school and began working as a doctor, they would move out of their tiny apartment and finally adopt.

But then came that fateful letter from River. Bringing a new child into their lives when they needed to work through losing their daughter was simply irresponsible. They weren't ready for it.

And so they put it off.

In all honesty, they put it off for far longer than was strictly necessary. They had always known the day was soon approaching that River would die; they had spent nearly three years dreading the day she would simply stop coming to visit, after all. But Rory and Amy couldn't help but feel as if adopting a child so soon after River's death was disrespectful to their daughter's memory, almost as if they were replacing her.

But for as much as they kept putting it off, that never changed the fact that Rory and Amy had always wanted a family together; the decision to actually adopt had always been lurking in the background, but yet that final decision still snuck up on them.

"So I was cleaning today," Amy began one night over dinner.

"Did the broom win again?" Rory questioned immediately, fighting to keep his expression blank.

"Oh, shut up, you," Amy retorted with a small smile and a roll of her eyes. "No, it did not win. I did find something though…"

At his questioning look, Amy removed the folder from where she'd been hiding it in her lap as she worked up the courage to bring the topic up. Without a word of explanation she slid it across the table to Rory.

Rory did not need an explanation, though. He recognized that particular folder very well, after all. With a surprisingly steady hand, he reached out and picked the folder up, opening it to reveal all of the paperwork that had been completed years ago.

"I think we should turn all of it in," Amy said softly when Rory made no move to speak. "I'd say it's long past overdue. We _have_ been waiting more than fifteen years to start our family, after all…"

A small smile appeared on Rory's face at her words and it quickly blossomed into an all-out grin. "We have, haven't we? Let's go tomorrow."

Amy grinned back. "Tomorrow," She agreed. "Tomorrow will be our new beginning, once and for all."


	4. A Farewell, an Apology & a new Beginning

**a/n-Sorry about the wait! This took much longer to write than I had anticipated-and I didn't even have to worry about writing the letter at the beginning (On that note DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own the letter written by Rory to his dad; that is the property of BBC and NOT ME. I'm kind of on the fence about even including it, so I might end up deleting it from the chapter at some future point. Just know, all of the italicized text is taken from 'P.S.'). I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Letter Sent #1—A Farewell, an Apology, and a New Beginning**

To: Dad

From: Rory

_Dear Dad,_

_This is the difficult bit. If I've got this right, you're reading this letter a week after we left in the Tardis._

_The thing is…we're not coming back._

_We're alive and well and…stuck…in New York…fifty years before I was born. We can't come home again. I won't ever see you again. And that breaks my heart._

_I'm so sorry Dad._

_I thought about this for years, and I realized there was one thing I could do: I could write to you; tell you everything about how we lived. How, despite it all, we were happy._

_But before I do, I need you to know…you are the _best_ dad any son could have had. And for all the times I drove you mad and you drove me mad, all the times I snapped at you…I'm sorry. I miss everything about you. Especially our awkward hugs._

_I've bought a trowel. We have a small yard. I garden._

_Oh, one more important bit of business. The man who delivered the letter to you: Anthony. Be nice to him...because he's your grandson._

_We finally adopted in 1946. Anthony Brian Williams._

_He can tell you everything; he'll have the family albums. And I realize having a grandson who is older than you is so far beyond weird, but…I'm sorry._

_I love you, Dad._

_I miss you._

* * *

Rory never told Amy about the letter. He didn't tell her when he first had the idea to write it. He didn't tell her when he wrote it. He didn't tell her when he entrusted it to their son. And he didn't tell her with his last dying breath.

None of that mattered, though, because he was pretty sure that she had known about the letter from the beginning. This was Amy they were talking about, after all. Amy, his loving, wonderful, beautiful wife; she knew everything. He was the stupid one for thinking he could ever hide something from her, especially something so important.

Because honestly, that's why he never said a word about it to her: because it was so important. The letter he wrote to his dad, decades before it was ever going to be sent or received, was a final farewell. It was Rory's final farewell to the only family he had left behind when he jumped off the top of that hotel.

Amy was never going to get to send a final farewell. After all, only Rory's dad truly understood the truth about the Doctor and Amy and Rory's travels with him. That was hardly a comfort to Rory, though, who found writing the letter to be the most difficult thing he had ever done in his entire life. How do you tell someone—how do you tell your _dad_?—that you're never going to see him again? How do you sum up an entire life that he should have been a part of?

The letter should have been longer. Rory knew that. Enough happened in his life to write a novel for every year of the life he and Amy had lived in New York. He _should_ have written so much more than he did, but he _couldn't_ make it longer. Because what little he had written broke his heart; because his dad should have been there for it.

He wrote the letter not long after they brought Anthony home. Anthony was their new beginning, after all, and just holding him made Rory realize that all he really needed now in life was that small bit of closure writing a farewell letter to his dad would bring. But it was another twenty years before Rory actually told Anthony about the letter.

He didn't plan to tell Anthony that day; to be completely honest, it had always seemed rather like a death-bed sort of thing: entrusting his son with a letter to deliver on some far-off, predetermined date. But when Anthony came home that spring afternoon after class, Rory suddenly had the urge to get the letter off his chest (quite literally) once and for all.

"Anthony," Rory called from the living room at the sound of the front door closing. "Come in here for a minute, would you?"

Within a minute, Rory had turned the volume down on the television and Anthony had taken a seat on the couch.

"I want you to do something for me," Rory told his son. At his father's overly serious tone, Anthony unconsciously sat up a bit straighter. "It's very important, and you can never tell mum about it."

Anthony frowned slightly but did not interrupt. Rory reached up and took an old-looking envelope out of his shirt pocket—in the back of his mind, Anthony registered that his dad had always carried that envelope around in his pocket; whatever it was must be important. Silently, he handed it to Anthony.

"It's addressed to Brian Williams," Anthony stated in surprise as he stared at his dad's familiar writing on the envelope. His eyes lifted to meet his father's even expression. "That's Grandpa."

Rory nodded.

"But…" Anthony was confused now, Rory could easily see that. "You haven't even been born yet."

Rory nodded again. "You know all about how mum and I ended up in New York—"

"And how you can never leave," Anthony cut in with a nod. He couldn't remember ever being outright told that his parents were essentially from the future; it was simply something he'd always been brought up knowing.

"And that's why you've never met any of your grandparents," Rory finished. "But the thing is: mum and I are both going to die long before our younger selves get trapped in the past."

"Dad—" Anthony tried to cut in again, but Rory continued speaking.

"Don't worry, that's still a long way off, I promise," Rory said with a slight smile. "You're going to have to put up with us for quite a while longer, I'm afraid. But the thing is…" Here, he finally wavered. This was always going to be the difficult bit for him… "Our parents—mine and mum's—aren't going to have any idea what happened to us. One day, we're just going to disappear and they're never going to hear from us again." He paused again and took a deep breath. "But my dad…he's going to know that we didn't just disappear. He knows we left with the Doctor…and the dangers involved in travelling with him. And I—I owe it to him to let him know what happened to us, to me. And the only possible way for me to do that is through a letter."

Anthony looked back down at the letter in his hands; it suddenly felt like a heavy weight. Surely his dad didn't intend…

"I need you to bring that letter to my dad," Rory told Anthony. "It will mean so much to him to be able to meet you, to get to know you. And you can tell him so much more than I could ever put in a letter. I know the details will all need to be worked out…time and place and such…but do you think you can do this, Anthony? For me?"

Anthony didn't even contemplate hesitating before replying, "Of course I can, dad. I'll bring it to him. I promise."

The pair never spoke of the letter again. Every so often Rory, and sometimes Amy, would mention something in passing about their parents or their childhoods. But never again did Rory feel it necessary to mention the letter he wrote. Because writing that letter, for as difficult as it had been, had brought him a sense of peace.

He was never going to see his dad again, that much was true. But he'd been able to write out his farewell…and the apology that it wasn't in person. But more than that, Rory was able to give his dad a new beginning of his own. He would never again see Rory and Amy, but Brian and Anthony would have years in which to get to know each other. And for that, Rory would always be grateful.


End file.
